3.12.2014

Tell me what you want, what you really, really want.

I spend so much energy on my to-do
lists and my tidying and my fretting about The Next Thing that I far
too often fail to see the forest for the trees. For years now I
have wanted to construct a different, idealized life for myself; one
that would be simpler and, simultaneously, more fulfilling. A life
that found me doing what I really want to be doing, where I really
want to be doing it and with whom I really want to be doing it. And
really, who wouldn't really want that stuff?

So here I am, almost forty years
old, and less than six months ago I jumped off the high dive. I left
my career and my friends and my home of most of my adult life to get
back to it. To what I really wanted. But you know this.

What we really, really want. Funny
thing. That's the hardest part, isn't it? Getting to the nut of it
all, and figuring that out. It seems as though it would, it
should, be the the easiest part. And for some it is. And then
it's just a matter of aiming for the target, right?

But what if you should have turned right when you turned left? What if you choose to do this and you chose
that instead? What if?! And therein lies the rub. Right there
is why so often we end up doing what it is that we do (instead of
where our major in college was to take us) and who we end
up doing it with (instead of 'the one that got away'). Why, sometimes, our lives, our
careers, our partners, find us rather than the other way around. And
we can call it destiny. Fate. Something beyond our control, beyond
our power.

Maybe I do or maybe I don't but I'd
like to think I have a little more control over my past, present and
future than to chalk it up to fate, destiny, 'shit happens' or 'c'est
la vie' (which makes perfect sense coming from a consummate control freak).
And that's why I'm right here, right now. I'm in Richmond, Virginia
with Fred. We're having a baby girl this summer. I see my family and
my Paz lots and lots. I'm eating, cooking and writing about food –
and getting paid to do it. And I have to say that all of these things
exist because I wanted them and I focused and worked to that end.
And still, had Chris and I not had that conversation about 'that
thing called a blog' six and a half years ago, there's a very, very
good chance I wouldn't be here, doing this - writing this. With Fred. Had I turned right instead of left.

In my fifth grade yearbook, everyone in
my class stated what they wanted to be when they grew up. I said
Artist. So maybe all these years I've been staying the course. Hard
to say.

One of the things I have always really
wanted was to be in a creatively collaborative relationship with my
significant other (think Frida and Diego, Anais and Henry, Virginia and Vita, or my favorites, Lillian and Dashiell) . Call it fate, call it destiny, call it finally locating that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, but I definitely have found a true partner
in both the intimate and creative spheres. There is no doubt Fred's photography has
elevated this blog exponentially. And though, while we work together we squabble like two Tweens over a strand of Justin Bieber's hair,
what we create is beauty and that makes me beam with pride and
accomplishment.

Well, we have taken it all a step
further. We have made it official and are expanding from just F for
Food with a real deal food photography and styling business: Fred
+ Elliott Food Styling & Photography. And I'm unveiling the
curtain here. The website is up, the business cards are printed and
the phone line is active (we just love the design done for us by A
for Adventure). We are ready. I keep thinking of Annie Pott's
character in Ghostbusters when
they get that first call.

But, not to worry, I'm not going
anywhere. I mean, where else can I talk freely in this way? That reminds me of
another thing: one of the fun parts of this whole pregnancy thing (at
least the stage I'm in now), is that I can eat what I really want. In
moderation, of course. I'm told that if I crave something specific, my
body probably needs it. This likely explains the sudden and bizarre
cravings for peanut butter and honey sandwiches with a glass of milk
(the first glasses of milk I've had in over twenty-five years). I
guess I need protein and calcium.

Well, last night I really, really
wanted ricotta cheese. So Fred made it for me again. And I also
wanted pasta (always). So we made that, too. And with the weather
being close to eighty degrees and the sun shining mightily, I wanted
to make a bright springy dish incorporating those two ingredients.
Five months in, Fred now knows that the pregnant lady – come Hell
or high water – is going to find a way to get her hands on the food
that she really, really wants.

So together, collaboratively, we did it
all: from foraging for the right ingredients, to making our own
ricotta and pasta from scratch, to the styling and photographing the
food, to eating it (and yes, of course there was the requisite amount
of bickering). I'm not sure if it was the process behind it, but man
alive, this dish was exquisite. I can't see why anyone wouldn't
really, really want it, too.

Fill a large stockpot with water, add 1
tablespoon salt, and bring to a boil; meanwhile, prepare an ice-water
bath. Place fava beans in a sieve, and lower into water. Let water
return to a boil, about 1 minute; blanch beans, 1 minute more. Remove
sieve from water, and place beans in ice-water bath. Transfer to a
colander; drain. Peel and discard tough skins; set beans aside.